Chuck vs The High Citadel
by Doc in Oz
Summary: Team B find themselves trapped in the Andes by hostiles. Low on ammo, they are forced to resort to less than conventional methods. Early season four.


-o0o-

**High Citadel**

I don't own Chuck et al.

**A.N. **This is my third 'adventure' multi. So a bit more conventional than recent efforts. This is loosely based, um I meant to say inspired by Desmond Bagley's High Citadel. As seems to be consistent, I have no real plot of my own.

Set early-ish season four. Current outline is eight chapters.

Hoping that you find bits of this good. If they are, that's because of Desmond Bagley.

**Huge** thanks to both **questie64** and **retropanda37** (in no particular order) for giving this chapter the once over, and helping me de-tune the techno-babble (retorop then over-achieves and gently points out my duplications and weird punctuation :) ).

* * *

><p><strong>Dramatis Personae<strong>

In order of appearance.

John Casey – Super Spy.

Chuck Bartowski – Nerd. Spy. Intersect 2.0 host.

Sarah Walker – Spy extraordinaire.

Armand Chavez – Former president of Cordillera. Travelling under the name Rodriguez.

Benita Chavez – His daughter.

Luis Gomez – Medical student. Travelling with the Rodriguez'.

Mary and Peter Coughlin – Retired couple, on holiday.

Ian Armstrong – Medieval historian.

John Evans – Civil engineer.

Enrique Estevez – Co-Pilot.

Paul Harris – Pilot.

-o0o-

The Tupolev Tu-154 was fast approaching her fortieth birthday. The three engine Russian plane was said to be copied from the old Boeing 727, and had a disturbing amount of adhesive cloth tape visible inside the cabin. The hull pressurisation had failed sometime before the millennium, and so a tube of oxygen was now shared between each bank of passenger seats. Cargo filled the rear of the cabin.

Casey wasn't certain that there wasn't a live chicken on board, but you could smell there'd been at least one in the recent past. And it hadn't been house trained.

The third (or more likely fifth) hand former Aeroflot liner was now over the mountain range that was the spine of South America. Even the smallest peaks here were well over fifteen thousand feet high. The majority weren't even officially named. They were flying between the Pacific coast and San Placida, capital of the land locked nation of Cordillera.

These peaks were still very much a _here be dragons_ part of the map to the aviation world. There were few navaids in this corner of the world. Partly due to the lack of regular public transport, but mostly because that would require placing a radio station of some description to aid navigation on some of the most unclimbable mountains in the world.

The other reason for their lack was that the various countries were rarely stable enough to then maintain said navaids.

Remember the lighting the beacons scene in _Return Of The King_? Now imagine that scene had to have real people on those peaks, not just CGI actors who always kept dry matches, and who didn't have to go home once in a while. And there would have had to have been a constant power supply. The radio signal from a VOR in a valley is only useful if you are overhead. Like a TV signal, they only work line-of-sight.

Casey very much doubted there was even a cheap-ass Large Mart style GPS up in the pointy end of this sterling example of Soviet era aerospace engineering. He'd once talked his way into riding shotgun in the two seat variant of the 1950's designed Lockheed U2 spyplane. This thing scared him more than riding fourteen miles up, at the edge of space, wearing a by-God space suit.

He could have used that suit now. It was cold, and the air in the cabin was thin. Everyone had put a jacket or warm clothing on when the cold set in. Even Casey needed to suck on the oxy tube.

All of the normal cheerful signs for passengers were in Cyrillic. Less than half of those were covered in the old fashioned hand cranked red Dymo labels in Spanish, and most of those were peeling off.

Right now, Casey could see at least two peaks the same height as they currently were. This whole thing felt like a FUBAR waiting to happen.

Chuck and Sarah were in the seats in front of their detail. Chavez, the former president of Cordillera and his daughter, who were both currently travelling under the name of Rodriguez. Casey was a couple of rows behind them. The old man was using the oxy tube fairly regularly. His daughter, Benita making sure he was OK. He was pointing out landmarks he knew from his guerrilla days before he came to power.

There was a young man to Casey's right. Gomez was about Chuck's age and height. He was travelling with the Rodriguez's. Nothing was said, but Casey suspected he was with the daughter, Benita.

Behind Casey was an older couple. On a retirement tour, Casey guessed. The Coughlin's from Indiana. From their conversations, Mr Coughlin had been here before, probably some time, back in the Seventies.

Across the aisle from the old couple were two middle aged men. Not together, but seated together. Armstrong and Evans. Armstrong was reading a thick, serious looking text book and had the look of a college professor. Evans had seen outdoor work, and was reading a tattered old Travis McGee paperback.

Casey's first inkling of the FUBAR becoming real was when the plane dipped its right wing, and changed direction. No reason to suspect it was anything other than following a path through the mountains. From what he could see out the other side, there were no peaks or weather dictating a change of direction.

The old man, Chavez was discussing this with his daughter. He was sure they weren't going the right way anymore. His daughter, Benita was sure all was OK "Things look different from the air. The path you recall is thirty years ago."

Casey was contemplating heading to the flight deck to check things out, when the engine notes changed, and the plane began to descend. Way too early.

He was on his feet, heading to the flight deck door. Sarah was a pace behind him. Chuck, looking concerned, kept an eye on the passengers, who were all looking at Casey and Sarah.

The door was locked. Post 2001 that was the norm. But this plane had been built long before that became SOP. To Casey, the thin door was nothing more than a privacy screen. The lock separated from the rest of the door under his weight.

Casey's first sight was the co-pilot holding a pistol.

Chuck heard a voice cry out "Don't!" and then two shots.

Something _bad_ happened to the plane after that. Chuck was a little preoccupied holding on for dear life for the next few minutes.

-o0o-

Casey reacted first after the explosion. He hurled the body of the dead co-pilot to the deck, and took his seat.

Sarah turned back to the cabin, fighting the lateral and variable gee forces as the Tupolev reacted to the explosion, screaming "Harnesses!" as she fought to return to her seat next to Chuck.

"Power!" cried Casey, as he hit the three thrust levers all the way to their stops.

"We've lost an engine! Number three by the dials." The pilot called over the collection of alarms now sounding, barely glancing at his new companion as Casey donned the dead man's oxygen mask and intercom.

"...Left rudder?" asked Casey after checking which pedal was full in.

"Yeah. Gimme a hand. Or foot."

"Got it... not doing too much" judged Casey from the way the world was still rotating clockwise "The explosion must have taken out part of the rudder."

"And elevator I'm guessing. I'm only getting partial control from both. We are going down." Both men had the yoke all the back. After a moment, both eased the yoke forward, increasing their descent, but they would need that extra margin in their descent rate soon enough. Casey did the same with the power, for the same reason.

"That looks like a dirt strip over there" Casey indicated with his chin.

"Seen. Estevez was redirecting me to an air force field that a-ways" he indicated at a mountain range.

"Who?"

"My co-pilot. Who turned out to be a hijacker slash mad bomber. What the _hell_ is going on?"

"That would be something to do with El Presidente back there, I guess."

"Why would he just blow the engine? He wanted me to land. If he was going to kill us, just blow the bomb properly, not cripple us."

"Not sure, but I think that might be my fault. When I shot him, he triggered the remote. But crippling, was he good enough to land in this condition?" Casey noticed they were now below every peak he could see. They were now committed. Well, they had been the moment the engine blew.

"Don't know. Gut feeling says no. He was too sloppy."

Casey grinned inside his oxy mask "That sounds like a pilot. Doesn't play well with others."

The crippled craft descended. In order to approximate a straight path, they had to hold her about fifteen degrees over to the left. It didn't feel natural.

"Fuck. This is gonna be nasty."

"Well, we could always auger in" offered Casey.

"Lets try it my way first. If that doesn't work, then we'll go back and try yours. This job sucked anyways."

The strip was carved into the side of a mountain. There was a dirt track leading from their end of the runway. Runway was a bit grandiose. It was little more than a widened section of the track. From their perspective, there was a steep slope to the left of the field, and the right side was mountain.

They lined up on the strip. The pilot, who introduced himself with a quick "My name's Harris, by the way" reduced power to idle so they could loose enough height in time. Orbiting a crippled craft is a bad idea. You never want to loose sight of the field. Slots, slats and flaps are a case-by-case option. Once they are used, you may not have the option of un-using them. As they manoeuvred, they could feel the controls becoming stiffer and harder to move.

"We're pumping hydraulics overboard" commented Harris.

"Not gonna need 'em after the next five minutes" replied Casey. The time it would take to isolate the rear hydraulics on the engineer's board would be too long.

They extended the flaps, but left the wheels up. Another alarm added itself to the existing bells and whistles reminding them of this. There wasn't time to find and pull the circuit breaker. The end of the strip was coming up, the horizon tilted in their compensation of their right yaw. Harris finessed the power. In a jet, that is like trying to turn a supertanker. You need to plan ahead. Unlike the piston engine in a car, jets need _time_ to spool up and develop the thrust.

The planet rushed up too quickly. Both men hauling back on the controls, and levelled the wings so they didn't strike the left wing tip.

For a normal approach in a passenger jet to a normal airport, the touchdown point is well down the length of the strip, marked by a large pair of painted markers, bracketed by two smaller ones either end of the larger one. Watch any footage of a Space Shuttle landing for a perfect example of this.

In some ways, all aircraft landings are controlled crashes. You are bringing a machine that weighs a lot more than you do, in at a speed that can kill, and bringing it to a stop with minimum damage to yourself and/or the aircraft. Carrier landings are an extreme example of this, but a standard short field landing in a trainer onto long wet grass is a test of character too. And short field approaches are best not done in a passenger jet liner.

Harris and Casey put down as close to the start of the strip as they could. Runway behind you is only useful if you are on climb, departing that runway. They brought her in as flat as they could. The Tupolev bounced heavily the first time, and then stuck and slid almost soothly for a moment. Then the right wing struck the slope where the runway had been carved into the side of the mountain. The jet cart-wheeled, nosing into the rough slope at around one hundred and twenty knots.

Casey had a glimpse of the rock wall rush at him. The impact left him dazed. His next image was out of his side window, as the forward quarter of the plane swung over the steep drop that ran beside the strip. Before Casey could react, he noted that the cabin was rotating back towards solid dirt. Both Harris and Casey tried to kill the engines, but disorientation from striking the cliff face, and the violence of the ride made that impossible.

The broken plane came to a stop, with most of the left wing hanging in open space over the drop.

-o0o-

After the crash, Miguel Gomez and Chuck had treated the survivors once they were able to exit the cabin. The Coughlins were by far the worst. During the landing, the cargo had shifted, crushing Mr Coughlin, and Mrs Coughlin had both of her legs sheared off at the knees. The worst anyone else seemed to have, was cuts and scrapes.

The survivors sheltered in the entrance to an abandoned mine. There were five such mines dug into the bank beside the runway. It was freezing.

Chuck had said that many times in his life. 'It's freezing.' This time however, it was the literal truth. They were out of the wind chill now. But it was still below freezing, there was ice glistening on the walls of the cave.

Using some of the punk wood from deeper in the mine, they were able to get a fire started, but from either the altitude or the quality of the wood, it barely rated more than a flicker.

Sarah sat beside Chuck saying "I think I got warmer starting that thing than from the fire itself" Chuck rubbed her arm, holding her close at the same time.

He held her chin with thumb and forefinger, studying her face "Well, I hope this experience hasn't put you off flying. Statistically speaking, it's the safest way to travel."

She held his gaze for a moment before recognising the quote, and said with a sideways twitch of her lips "Thank you, Jor-EL."

"Kal-EL" he corrected, very seriously.

"Nerd" she countered, widening her grin.

"And you love it" he rested his forehead to hers.

"Darn right" she agreed after kissing him softly.

Chuck shifted his gaze to the night sky. At this altitude, and lack of light pollution, the stars shone brighter than he'd ever seen. Under different circumstances, he would have been entranced. _'Billions, and billions'_ he thought distractedly.

Chuck sighed, "This... this could be ... interesting."

Sarah rested her head on Chuck's shoulder "How's Mrs Coughlin?"

Chuck paused a moment before admitting "Bad. She's still unconscious. That's probably the best thing for her. She doesn't know her husband is dead. Or that she's lost both her legs. I did the best with... she's lost too much blood. I don't know..."

Sarah held his hand "You and the other guy worked wonders with nothing, Chuck" she paused with a grimace "This altitude is killing me. I've got a splitting headache."

"That is almost literal" came a voice from behind them "We've all have _soroche_, altitude sickness. In an effort to get more oxygen to your brain, the blood vessels swell. We'll acclimatise, but it would be better if we loose some altitude. Sorry, I did not mean to eavesdrop" said the tall young man joining them at the mouth of the cave.

Casey limped into the dim light from the mine opening, and said without preamble "I know normal survival manuals state that you stay with the crash, but this is not normal. We need to get to a lower altitude. And there exists a very real possibility that a rescue party might not be the first to try and find us. Get the others to try and get some rest, we'll head down the road at first light."

"Casey, you sure you're OK? We've both seen you favour your left..."

"I'm fine Chuck. And sitting up hurts less, so I'll take the watch."

-o0o-

"OK, that was probably the most scared I've ever been. And seeing as how I hang out with you guys the last few years, _that_ is saying something."

Casey grunted at Chuck "Kind of top my list, too."

They stared at the fire for a while. Casey broke the silence "When I was in training. My first solo cross country navex" he smiled ruefully at the memory "I ran out of fuel in flight. Not my fault" he held his hands up "The o-ring around the fuel caps perished during the flight, and the partial vacuum over the wings sucked the fuel out. Cessna, the wings are on top" he pre-empted Chuck asking why he didn't see the fuel loss.

"Annd, she was an old bird. The fuel gauges hadn't read correctly for years" Casey smiled, a bit more genuinely this time. Chuck thought Casey must have liked that old plane. "You know how ... you know when you mow a lawn? When you shut the fuel off on a lawn mower, it does this 'buuur uh buuur uh' before it cuts out. I found out, that at eight and a half thousand feet, a Continental engine does the same exact damn thing. Lucky for me, she was an older model. Later models have a fuel tap that drains both tanks at the same time. Charlie only had a left-right-off switch. So I changed tanks. Fortunately the other tank still had some left."

"Charlie?"

"From part of her registry number. Anyway, I'd passed over one of my turn points a few minutes back, so I did a one eighty, and flew back. That was kind of a ... an interesting feeling. Pucker factor of about seven point five. Not knowing if I had enough fuel to get back to the previous town. I was looking at the paddocks and roads, just in case, but I made it. When you land at a non controlled field, there are four things you must do" he grinned "I only did one of them" Casey began counting his fingers off "I didn't do at least three legs of the circuit, I approached from over the town, and I landed _down_wind. I did however make an 'all stations' call."

"As I recall, the last time I let you fly, you hit a fighter jet while it was still on the runway. And we were still in the air. After that, we parked it on the beach." Chuck grinned at the fire.

"I had some fun with a hydraulics failure once" came Sarah's voice. She joined the two at the fire near the cave entrance. "What did you call it – pucker factor? Call mine a solid three. I selected gear down, and as I'm turning base, I could see the leg on my side still hadn't locked. I didn't think much of it, and pulled the emergency handle out, and pumped. I could see the leg move with each handle stroke. Anyway, they locked and the light went green. It was only when I went for flaps and nothing happened, that I realised we had issues. Br..." she hesitated as both she and Chuck could still be a little gun shy about his name "...Bryce was hurt, so I'm effectively solo. The approach was fun. I had to hold the flaps lever down with my left hand, and pump the hydraulics with my right. That, of course meant I had to let go of the controls. The flaps affected the trim, so I had to grab the wheel, and re trim. Repeat the process about three or four times" she rested her head on Chuck's shoulder after she sat. She grinned "This was in a country in eastern Europe that no longer exists. The plane we borrowed was... not in the best condition. We didn't have much option though. A bit of a rush, you understand. After we landed, I then discovered that the left brake had leaked out. Just to put a final gloss on the whole thing. So I couldn't really brake during the roll out. Full left rudder, and feather the right brake... and naturally after that, we could only turn right" she looked seriously at the other two "Every damn turn on the ground was to the left. So we had to do a series of two hundred and seventy degree turns to get to the parking. Ever had the feeling _everyone_ is looking at you?" she grinned.

-o0o-


End file.
